The Promised Reunion
by LuckyLink7
Summary: Garry promised Ib that they would meet again. But Ib has moved to another country, leaving Garry to look for her in vain. They get their reunion, all right, but is that all...?
1. Chapter 1

**I just really had to write a fanfic for Garry and Ib, but I don't know if this will be fluff, only this one chapter, or end up blowing up into a full-on story with **_**plots**_**. We'll see, I guess, and enjoy :). Review if you liked it and would like me to continue!**

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**At London**

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Ib pushed the heavy curtain back a little, letting some sunshine stream into her room. She sat on the window seat and peered out the window, nostalgic feelings returning once again.**  
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Eight years ago when Ib and her family had first moved to London, she was so small she had to heave herself onto the window seat, wriggling forwards on her tummy to get up. Now, at seventeen, she barely had to go on her toes.

Eight years. Eight years since the horrifying, nightmare-inducing incident at Guertena's gallery that had left her awake and shaking for countless nights. She had never been good at showing her feelings, and now all the fear and anxiety steadily accumulated up inside of her and manifested itself in dreams.

Eight years since she had last seen Garry.

Ib's parents had noticed a change in their daughter. This, accompanied by the birth of a boy, catalysed their initial thoughts on immigrating to Britain.

The family had moved by the next month.

Ib found herself wishing, as she often did, that she and Garry had exchanged some kind of contact details before they separated. No doubt the young man had never imagined she would be leaving the country.

Ugh, no. Who could blame her? She was nine years old at the time – her mother didn't let her have an _email address_ until she was twelve.

_Forget him_, she thought, the street blurring below her. Her house was down many streets off the main road, falling deeper and deeper into seclusion until the neighbourhood was simply a row of tall houses lining a long, narrow road. Her parents wanted a safe place for young Cal to grow up.

_But how do you forget your hero?_ The houses seemed to shiver, smudging together until all that was left was a smear. Ib brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. She was annoyed with herself. How could one person cause her to show such powerful emotions? Someone in another country, no less, who she hadn't seen in eight years.

Ib had sudden mood swings like these sometimes. The last time had been seven months ago; she had thought she had finally gotten over the whole thing. But who was she trying to convince, really? It's impossible to forget someone who was by your side in such a traumatic event, something that only Garry's face could bring calm to her. She could still remember the feeling of his heavy coat, when he had covered her with it, the candy he had given her. The small gift might have seemed almost insignificant to him, but at the memory Ib felt hot tears beginning to form in her eyes again. It had tasted sweet. A little melted at the end. Some sticky remains had stuck to the wrapper when she peeled it off.

She could still remember how Garry felt when she hugged him. He had arrived out of nowhere and saved her from Mary. The crumbling fear of the moment and the overwhelming relief of seeing Garry had caused an uncharacteristic show of emotion, throwing herself at him and burying her scrunched-up face into his front.

Ib blinked the tears back, drawing her knees up and resting her forehead against the window. How could only he – who she knew almost nothing about – make her show herself as so vulnerable, expose all her emotions? Was it his own lack of control over his emotions, showing fear and shock and worry clear as day on his face, his openness, that affected her? Or did he just become so special to her that her blasé exterior cracked a little in his presence?

Shaking her head quickly, Ib straightened up and leapt off the window seat. She was thinking far too much, even by her own standards.

_Let's go for a walk_, she thought. _Buy something at the market. That might help._

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The smoke drifted lazily, floating in a haze around the young man's head. It looked like a smoky wreath, a grey halo.

_Kind of ironic_, Garry thought. He looked listlessly at the cigarette drooping between his fingers. A sigh escaped.

Garry was standing on the balcony of his hotel, overlooking a rather unimpressive view of London. As a fashion designer steadily growing in fame, he had figured he would get at least a decent apartment to stay in for a bit, a junior suite if he was pushing it, but certainly not a shabby hotel in the corner of nowhere. His only view was a bland building towering opposite, an apartment complex or something. He really didn't care.

This wasn't the first time he was offered to travel to another country. He had been invited to work for a fashion industry in Australia two years ago, but he had declined. Family problems, not ready for living somewhere else but thanks for the offer.

Who was he kidding? He just couldn't stand the thought of being on the other side of the world for up to three years. Not when there was a chance Ib was still looking for him like he was looking for her. No doubt she had given up years ago, if at all. Was he delusional to think she missed him just as much?

Garry justified his confused mass of emotions by deciding that initially, he had only loved her like a brother should. But now she must be sixteen or seventeen, perhaps even eighteen. He wouldn't have to lie to himself anymore.

But he didn't really want to tell himself the truth either, not when he had accepted the offer to travel to London and work there for six months to a year. The pay would be good, the experience excellent, everything should be perfect. He couldn't let Ib get in the way of his life or his career anymore.

Garry looked much the same as he had eight years ago. His hair was still dyed a violet colour and he was as lean as ever, but at twenty six his blue eyes seemed heavy now, saddened and hopeless. He still owned his tattered blue coat, but it was now hung at the back of his wardrobe as he tried to forget the ordeal at the art gallery. He wore simply but fashionably now, attempting to make his growing title _himself_. A plaid shirt and dark jeans, usually. He didn't like to draw attention to himself.

Garry blew more smoke out. He leaned against the railing, propped up on his forearms, and watched the street below. Many people milled about, rushing about with last-minute shopping, little kids wailing, dogs prancing about. Smoke wafted in his sight and he sighed once more. After separating from Ib he had decided to quit smoking, but after two years of searching and waiting, and the beginning of work pressure and family issues, his resolve crumbled and he was back with the life-threatening habit. And he didn't really care if he was going to be honest.

Someone in the crowd drew his attention, and he watched idly as the girl walked down the street, hands in her pockets and her head down. His cigarette was halfway to his mouth when she looked up, and he froze. His fingers seemed to lose all strength and the cigarette fell from his grip. It continued to fall, barely missing a young boy's head and skittering on the ground below. Ash scattered everywhere.

Garry straightened up, his heart beating so fast in his chest he began to feel light-headed. He was sure he had seen Ib. Older, yes, but it was Ib. Or perhaps the whole incident had gotten to his head at last, and he was hallucinating.

He watched, tense as a hunting cat, as the girl continued down the street. She was heading for the market, which was bustling on Sunday morning. She was quickly swallowed by the mass of people.

Snapping out of his stupor, Garry spun on his heel and raced back inside. He ran down the stairs and was out of the hotel in less than two minutes. Pushing past people without a word of apology, he sprinted towards the market.


	2. Chapter 2

**I've decided to make this story a fully-fledged one with **_**plot**_**, very adventure-y. Yay! I have no idea how long it will be, but I'm estimating it'll be pretty long. Full of adventures, lots of Garry x Ib as well, don't worry :) this ****story as a whole will certainly not be fluff, although it may have its moments.**

oOo

**Reunion**

oOo

Garry almost believed that the girl – Ib? – had vanished into thin air. He must have been hallucinating; no way would she be in London of all places. And now here he was, craning his head over the dozens of people milling about the market, feeling rather stupid and a stir of guilt as he remembered elbowing people rudely out of the way. But mostly, he felt disappointment. Huge, crashing disappointment. He was so _sure_ he had seen her. He could have sworn those russet eyes – almost scarlet, sometimes – had been real. It had all been so vivid.

Slowing, Garry stopped at last. He stood there, being jostled about but unable to move out of the way. He suddenly felt so weary. What was he doing, chasing down someone from so long ago? Was he really losing his mind?

A flash of red-brown eyes.

Garry's heart rate tripled, and he began to shiver. There. The girl was coming back the way she had come. She was staring at the ground, barely aware of the people pushing past her. But she was being jostled as well; was she real, then?

He wished she would lift her head higher so he could get a better look.

"Ow!"

A middle-aged woman with tight blonde curls crashed into him. She stumbled backwards and clutched at her slightly crooked nose, glaring spectacularly at him.

"Ah –!" Garry exclaimed. He knew it wasn't completely his fault, but he still felt bad. "I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am."

The woman pushed past him, muttering under her breath. Returning to his previous state of mind, Garry quickly looked around. The girl was just passing by him, and he felt himself shiver involuntarily. Even her presence felt the same…

He shot an arm out, grabbing the girl's. She jerked upright, her head snapping up with shock. Seeing her face full-on for the first time, Garry was overcome by such disbelief and astonishment that he could only stare at her. It _was_ Ib. She had changed so much, but at the same time she hadn't changed at all. Her chin was still a rounded little thing, softening her still childlike face. But there was something _old_ about her now – her cheeks had lost most of its baby fat, her eyes looked so much more aged, poignant even, and…and…

_She has grown up beautifully_, Garry thought with wonder. He couldn't do anything else. He could just stare, and the two stood in the middle of a busy market in London, Garry still holding her arm, silently awed by each other. It was as if everyone else had melted into nonexistence.

oOo

The market hadn't really been a good idea. Ib shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and glared at the ground, striding through the crowd. Normally she would have been courteous, staying as out of other people's way as she could, apologising if she elbowed anyone, but at the moment she was far beyond material etiquette. She honestly couldn't care less.

And now all her frustration was burning out to the surface. Once again, it was the result of months of accumulated aggravation, caused as usual by that damned art gallery and Garry. That damned Garry. Why couldn't he leave her alone? Why did he have to be such a hero to her at the gallery? Why couldn't he have been a terrible companion, so she could forget him as easily as he would have forgotten about her, a mere nine year old girl at the time?

Ib knew why. He couldn't be anything but a hero to her at the gallery, because if he hadn't been she wouldn't have ever made it out. It was Garry who had made her get through the living nightmare of Guertena's World. Without him and his incredible character, and all the love he had shown to her, she would never have experienced seventeen summers.

So now here she was, bursting with anger, frustration and so many other unpleasant emotions, surrounded by what seemed to be a third of the world's population to make things the absolute worst. It was all going to explode soon. She was going to have a breakdown at last. She had to get back home.

Ib pivoted, still staring resolutely at the ground, and began marching back. She could hear people muttering words of distaste as she pushed past them, but she didn't care. She really didn't.

She heard a voice that sounded so painfully familiar she had to squeeze her eyes shut briefly. Her tears seemed to come so easily now. She never cried.

"…_I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am…"_

How cruel. The man sounded so much like Garry. She was about to topple off the edge of a high cliff. She was nearing her breaking point.

Ib's arm jerked suddenly, her hand being wrenched out of her pocket. She started, looking up. What was it? Had someone finally decided to confront her about her rudeness? It was none of their business…she would scream at them…kick them maybe…!

She found herself staring at Garry. Except it clearly wasn't him; she had finally gone mad.

But it _must_ be him. He even looked older – not by much, but he had definitely aged. Just the tiny differences in his features told Ib that this man was really, truly Garry.

Her mouth opened, and then closed. Someone ran into her shoulder but she barely noticed.

"Ib," said Garry, his voice breathless, his blue eyes drilling into her own with such intensity she almost looked away.

Ib opened her mouth again, and suddenly she felt the feeling return to her limbs. With a swift, precise swing, she struck out at the man. Her palm connected with his right cheek with a loud crack. Strangely satisfying. She could already feel all her frustration draining away to be replaced with growing disbelief and absolute, overpowering happiness.

Garry reeled backwards, releasing Ib's arm. He clutched at his burning cheek, staring in wide-eyed shock at the girl. "I – Ib!"

Ib looked at his scarlet cheek and a rush of guilt ran down her body, boiling in her stomach. But, seriously, how could she help it? All these powerful, amassing emotions…she had to get rid of them _somehow_. And he had been a jerk, making her feel too much too quickly. She couldn't keep up.

"I – I'm sorry," she muttered, looking at the ground. "Um…let's go somewhere else."

People were beginning to stare, wondering what was going on. The two were being given a wide berth. Ib grabbed Garry's hand, reminiscent of so many years ago, and began leading him away. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, until at last she found herself stopping outside her house.

"My, you live here?" said Garry, gingerly following Ib inside. The place was so fancy, and it was obvious Ib's parents were wealthy from the lavish interior.

Ib didn't answer, figuring it was a rhetorical question, and locked the door behind them. "My room is upstairs," she said. "You don't have to take your shoes off," she added, as Garry began to do so. He looked indecisively at the thick carpet. It looked like it would show the faintest of scuff marks. "You _don't_."

Garry frowned a little but obligingly followed her upstairs to her room with his shoes on.

Once they were in, the first thing Ib did was immediately close the door and lock it. "If my parents come home and see a man here, they might jump to conclusions," she said, sitting on her bed and motioning for Garry to sit on her chair. She shivered at the thought of her parents; there would be many awkward conversations to follow, if that happened.

The corner of Garry's lips lifted a bit, and he sat down. "Why?" he said. "Do I really look that much older than you, Ib?" He paused. "Although…ah…I _am_ nine years older than you."

This was followed by a rather uncomfortable silence.

"Well," said Garry, trying not to fidget, "I'd truly like to say that I'm _incredibly_ glad to have reunited with you again, Ib." What an understatement. At the moment, Garry felt like hugging the girl forever, having her just wrapped up in his arms, but they hadn't seen each other in so long…he could frighten her…and she might not be anywhere near as enthusiastic to see him. Perhaps she would rather have forgotten the whole ordeal, and so his presence did nothing but hurt…?

Ib found herself smiling a little. "You did promise," she said. "To be truthful, I never forgot you."

"Neither. I could never," said Garry, relief flooding through him. There was silence again, but this time the tense atmosphere was gone. "So, I'm very curious," he continued, and he reached up a hand to touch the side of his face. "Why did you have to hit me?"

"Oh…ah…um…" Ib felt herself redden slightly, and wondered at how effortlessly this man drew emotion after emotion from her. "To be honest…" she trailed off, and looked away from Garry's intense gaze. Her heart was beginning to beat rather fast. "To…to be completely honest…I missed you so much these past eight years I could barely keep my emotions out of sight, and I was nearing a breakdown at the time you grabbed me." Ib gabbled out this last part before she could think it through, and as she realised what she had said she slapped a hand to her mouth. Ah, no, she had basically told him that he was her weakness…that she had been pining for him all these years…! How mortifying! _Look at his face…he's not wearing any expression! Ah, how humiliating…he himself would have completely forgotten about me until now, this is so embarrassing!_

Garry got up so fast the chair toppled over with a crash. He was in front of Ib in two strides, and in a second he was on his knees and embracing her. He held her close to him, his face buried in her shoulder, feeling his eyes growing hot but keeping them squeezed shut. He felt something warm on his back, and he inhaled sharply. Was…was Ib _crying?_

"Ib…" he murmured. "I missed you so much too. I spent so much of my time looking for you."

Ib gasped and began to pull away, but Garry held her tighter against him. "You – you did?"

Garry uttered a short laugh. "You have no idea."

After about five minutes, he finally loosened his grip and leant back, staring at Ib. She immediately covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, I'm crying," she muttered. "This is embarrassing."

Garry smiled. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and gently pushed her hands away, wiping her face with the white cloth. Ib blinked rapidly, seizing it.

"This…this…" She turned it around. _Ib_ was sewn into it. "This is my handkerchief!"

Garry looked at it mournfully. "I _did_ wash it," he said. "Eight years ago. Now it's just been sitting in my pocket all the time. I was always hoping I would run into you in the most unpredictable of places, and I will admit I was worried I would too. I didn't want to not have it if I met you again. The handkerchief is proof of how much you have been on my mind," he added, and felt blood rush to his face. He looked away and got up.

"Garry…this is so nice." Ib began to feel overwhelmed with emotions again, and buried her face in her handkerchief. "I – I – I'm not usually this emotional, I'm sorry –"

"I know, don't worry," said Garry, smiling at her. Ib hastily dried her face and stood up as well.

"Let's go for a walk," she said. "Tell me about your life."

They were halfway down the street when Garry took her hand. Ib let him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the favouriting, reviewing, following, all that stuff :P I'm pretty excited for this story; it's going to be **_**full**_** of adventure (and Garry x Ib, I won't forget), and…how about just ending this 'author's note' here and letting you guys read :) getting right into the action now!**

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"I really couldn't…" Garry looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his mocacchino, tapping the plastic restlessly with his fingers. He and Ib were walking down the darkening street. He had insisted that as a man, he certainly could not leave a girl to walk home alone. It would certainly be weighing on his conscience all the way back to his (shabby, disappointing, hovel-like) modest hotel.

Ib didn't look at him, just stared straight ahead as she clutched her hot chocolate in both hands. The drink was hot, warming fingers that had numbed from the approaching chilly night.

"It's okay," she said. "My parents were planning to arrive in a week, anyway."

"But earlier today, when you locked –"

"They could have returned early," said Ib. "It's a possibility." She paused, wondering if she should voice her thoughts. In the end, it came out anyway. How atypical. "The house is frightening when it's empty." Her lower lip began to tremble slightly, and she hastily brought the cup to her mouth to hide it; she loathed not just showing weakness, but also feeling it. She was so _pathetic!_ If Garry hadn't thought of her as a little girl anymore earlier in the day, now he surely would have reverted to that mindset. In fact, she was showing even _more_ weakness at seventeen compared to nine. How much pity must he feel for her? And disgust?

The hot chocolate burnt her tongue, suppressed tears springing to her eyes once more.

"Ib…"

Ib knew Garry was looking at her, but she didn't want to see his expression of pity. She imagined, instead, the look on that face, the one that had always shown emotion so openly. Surely there would be a part that looked at her as a parent looks at their distressed child, sympathetic but impatient. Certainly, he had plenty of reason to be impatient with her. She must be like an unpredictable toddler. She felt her cheeks burn.

"Ib, may I ask if it's because of what happened at…the gallery?" Garry's voice was gentle. He clearly thought of their relationship as one between brother and sister. This made a ball of iron clench in Ib's stomach, heavy and despairing. What had happened to the overwhelming happiness at seeing him only a few hours ago? The feeling that had shot through her arm when he took her hand? She could almost see his expression of disgust if she revealed her feelings for him.

"…Yes."

Garry fell silent.

As they walked, a page from an old, sodden newspaper fluttered past them. It caught on Garry's foot, and he bent to pull it off. There was a picture of a boy with neat brown hair and a solemn expression on it, perhaps around Ib's own age. A headline dominated the top of the newspaper. _Alexander Blunt Declared Dead After Nine Years: Professor Charged with Murder._

Ib glanced at it, disinterested. "He went missing nine years earlier."

Garry looked back down at the article and shuddered. He crumpled it up in his fist, dropping an apprehensive hand on Ib's shoulder. "Ib, these stories worry me," he said. "Please promise me that you won't go out alone at night. This could well be _you_."

Ib didn't answer immediately, sipping her hot chocolate. She couldn't lie about how nice his touch was, and it momentarily distracted her from what he was saying.

"…Oh…um…" she tried to remember what Garry was talking about, ducking away from his hand to regain her thoughts. "I'll try."

Garry frowned at her. "Please, Ib," he said. "These kinds of stories pop up everywhere. You _must_ be careful." He didn't add what he was also thinking: _if I lost you again after all this time…I don't know what I would do._

Ib felt her face burn again, but the night covered it well. Did he really think she was so weak, so vulnerable? Had she shown too much?

The two reached Ib's house at last. Ib, her mind made up, marched right up to the door and began fumbling with the lock. She would sleep alone tonight. She would not show such embarrassing weakness to Garry again. _Imagine all the discomfit he must be in!_

Her fingers, still numb from the cold, wouldn't aim the key properly into the lock. Getting increasingly frustrated but trying not to show it, she kept scrabbling with it until the key finally slipped between her fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter. Ib let out a cry of exasperation, bending down to pick it up.

Meanwhile, Garry was watching her with his eyebrows pulled close together. Ib was worrying him. She never got frustrated, she never lost her temper, she never showed so much emotion. Even in the most extreme of scenarios, when they were dumped in the hellish gallery, she had been calm and collected. She never showed how she was feeling inside, her emotions only manifesting in fainting when she had finally had enough. Exterior emotions weren't a part of her.

Garry bent, swiping the key off the ground first. He slipped it into the lock and opened the door, motioning for Ib to go in.

"I'll stay the night if you really want, Ib," he said. _Stay the night_, he thought. _My, that sounds suggestive. Perhaps I should have worded that differently…?_

But now he was thinking down that path, and he shivered a little. _Don't be a paedophile._

Ib deliberated at the door before walking into her house. She stood at the doorway, torn. She wanted him to stay the night. She really did. But if she did, it would just show her weakness even more. Being weak was so _ugly_.

"No," she said suddenly. Garry's expression changed completely, changing from one of mild embarrassment to surprise and…worry?

_Oh, no. Now I've made him worried…he must think I'm as fragile as glass._

"I can sleep fine alone," she said. _Was that firm enough? Yes, I think so…_

Garry seemed to hesitate, one foot slightly raised as if he were about to go somewhere. "Ah…are you sure?" He still looked concerned, a little suspicious even. "I wouldn't mind, I don't want to leave you alone knowing you're thinking about that terrible place."

Ib wanted him by her side so badly it hurt. But she couldn't bring herself to say anything.

"…If you want."

She stepped away, giving him room to come in. Garry blinked at her cold response, but walked into the house.

"Would you like to have a shower?" she asked. She tried to suppress the relief and exhilaration at having Garry back in her house – staying the _night…_ - but it was so hard. Some time would be needed to calm herself down. Or something. She still wasn't used to feeling such strong emotions, emotions that literally spilled out. She had always thought she was immune to that. Different.

"Ah…well…if your parents won't mind…?"

Ib couldn't help but smile at this. Garry had remained the same as much as she herself had changed. "No, they won't. The cleanest bathroom is downstairs. I'll use it after you."

After showing him to the bathroom, Ib ran up to her room. Slamming the door shut, she flung herself face-first onto her bed and screamed into her pillow for about a minute. At last, having expended all her pent-up emotions, she rolled over onto her back and exhaled deeply.

Garry. Garry was staying the night.

_Oh…oh my…Garry is staying the night!_

Ib sat up abruptly, fear running through her body. She had little experience with males. Very little. Would he try something on her in the dead of night as they shared the same bedroom, as little interest as he had during the day? Apparently boys were unpredictable creatures. Unpredictable, unreliable, hormone-driven.

Shaking her head quickly, Ib hugged herself. _Of course not all of them are, _she berated herself. _Stop generalising. It's frightening, but he can sleep on the other side of the room. Besides, sleeping with him nearby would surely be good for ceasing my nightmares._

Also, if she was going to admit it – which she would never, not even to herself – part of her thought she wouldn't mind too much if Garry tried something. Unless he was assaulting her, she wouldn't…she…well, she _did_ think of him…

There was a knock on the door, jolting Ib out of her increasingly more mortifying thoughts. As she was so natural at, she composed herself as the door opened and Garry walked in. He was in his clothes again, but his wet hair showed he had taken a shower. He...

_He looks so handsome._

Ib shook her head once more, something Garry did not miss. He frowned, but Ib just hurried past him. "I'll shower now," she said. "You can make yourself comfortable."

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Half an hour later, Garry and Ib were sitting in Ib's bedroom, Garry on the chair again and Ib on her bed. A rather awkward silence passed.

Garry wracked his brain desperately for something to say.

"Ah, um, Ib…as I was coming back from the bathroom, I saw a painting. It was very beautiful, a forest I think it was. I didn't spend a lot of time looking at it, but it truly caught my eye. Was it…ah…painted by you?"

Ib's lips thinned slightly, causing Garry to breathe in sharply. Nervously, he wondered if he had said the wrong thing.

"No," she said at last. "…Guertena."

Garry blinked rapidly. "S – sorry?" He leaned in, open-mouthed. "_Guertena?_"

_Oh, crap. No wonder she was upset._ "I – I'm terribly sorry for bringing it up, Ib. We can talk about something else if you want –"

"It turned out that my parents purchased a painting on sale, when we were stuck in the gallery," said Ib resolutely, refusing to show any more weakness. "_Forlorn Woods_. A part of the gallery has followed me home." She narrowed her eyes, staring into space. "I hate it."

_I wouldn't blame you._ Garry looked at her, concerned. Was it detrimental for her health to have such an ominous memento around? Surely it was.

"Why don't you take it down?" he asked.

"My parents like it. I don't care. I don't look at it anyway."

Garry stood up, bringing his hands together loudly. "All right then," he said. "I'm going to go and put it down. It can be put back up when your parents return. How does that sound, Ib?"

Despite herself, Ib felt her lips curl upwards uncontrollably. The next second she was on her feet as well.

"I want to do it," she said.

"Let's go, then," said Garry, smiling at her.

They left the bedroom, stopping at the landing. The painting hung here, a fairly large piece measuring roughly a metre across. It was beautiful, like Garry had said, but there was something unsettling about it like all of Guertena's other works. It was canvas which, apart from a cliff falling into an abyss to the left, was covered with trees painted a dark, brooding green, a small clearing near the centre. Here a tiny figure stood, too minuscule to make out any details.

Ib squinted at it, bringing her face so close to the painting her nose almost brushed its surface.

"That figure," she said, pointing at it. "I'm certain it wasn't standing before."

Garry looked at it, his mouth a grim line. "Ib…" he said, unsure of how to word what he would say next. "…You _did_ say you don't look at it; perhaps…"

Ib almost argued back, but she pulled herself together. She was throwing her emotions about in the open too much already. "I suppose." She glanced over her shoulder; she felt like they were being watched. But there was no one else. The house was empty of all other people.

Turning back to the painting, Ib jumped. She couldn't say anything; her tongue seemed to have turned to lead. Instead, she pointed at the clearing.

Garry looked, and his heart almost leapt into his throat. The figure…surely…surely it hadn't just…?

"It's gotten closer," said Ib, with absolute conviction. "It wasn't even standing to begin with. It wasn't."

The figure had long, blonde hair.

"Garry…" Ib reached for Garry's arm.

Garry didn't say anything. Perhaps they were imagining this, and it was all just a horrific nightmare…perhaps this was just some kind of post-traumatic hallucinating –

The moment his attention lapsed, he heard Ib cry out. Snapping back into reality, he blinked in confusion. Where had Ib gone?

Without warning his arm was seized. The next second, he was dragged right into the painting. He fell right through, and he saw the world change abruptly and dramatically as it span erratically around him. Gone were the white walls, the fancy lights fixed to the white ceiling, the door that led to Ib's room. Now everything was green.

Garry hit soft moss, twigs snapping under his weight as his world crashed to a halt. Holding his head, which still span, he got unsteadily to his feet. First he saw Ib, a few steps away and kneeling, stunned. Then he saw Mary, standing in front of them with a smile twisting her lips, a sharp palette knife in her hand.

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**I haven't read over this and edited it yet, but I'm sure it'll be fine.**


	4. Chapter 4

**All right, so firstly, you guys rock! :D Thanks for reading and reviewing and following and all those other stuff you awesome people do so awesomely. You should all get accounts so I can actually reply to your (awesome) reviews. I'll just say t****hanks to the guests on here: Eru, 'Guest', Jamie, C and TSSTS (a fan, yay)!**

** Secondly, the paintings in this story from here on forth are all from the game unless I state otherwise. 'Forlorn Woods' was created by me, which you probably assumed anyway, and it makes sense because it was being sold by the art gallery and therefore wouldn't have been displayed in the game *feeling good* **

**Oh yeah, the story. **

xXx

Mary blinked her large blue eyes at them. She tilted her head a little to one side, smiling almost sweetly.

"_Ib!_" she said, and her high voice pierced Ib's skull like a drill. She shivered; that voice had appeared countless times in her nightmares. "I haven't seen you in _so_ long…you've grown so much!"

Perhaps more unnerving than the knife Mary held was the way she was talking. It was so affectionate, friendly, childish…

Ib found she couldn't speak. She could only stare, feeling Garry move to her side.

Mary was so close Ib could see all the tiny imperfections on the palette knife, and she could smell the little girl – paint, the woods, hair. Light reflected off the blade and blinded her as Mary shifted her position.

"You were my best friend," said Mary, her eyes widening slightly. The action warped a shadow of children's innocent expressions. "But then you tried to kill me. That wasn't very kind. You tore my painting. I was hurt. I thought we were best friends, Ib." The hand holding the knife twitched slightly.

Ib slowly got to her feet, leaves sticking to her knees. Her numb mind began to size up herself and Mary. It was possible she could overpower the girl with Garry, especially if one of them distracted her – she had the physical stature of a ten year old. Couldn't she look away for just a second…?

Mary must have guessed at what Ib was thinking. "You can't kill me again," she said, and her mouth drooped a little as if she was sad. But in a second her unwavering eyes had widened even more, and she suddenly looked perversely eager. "I won't regret killing you, Ib. I think it'll be fun! What do you think? Ib?"

Ib swallowed, her throat dry. _Don't answer._

Mary looked disappointed. "You still don't talk a lot, I see," she said. "I was hoping we could talk a lot before I had to kill you. I've been awfully lonely here." She glanced at Garry, and her face was instantly full of scorn. Ib was beginning to feel unsettled by the sudden changed in her emotions. "I'll kill you after," she said. "I want _you_ to suffer, watching Ib die first. You stole her from me. She was never _your_ friend!" She spat once at him before turning back to Ib, her face lighting up once more. "Are you ready, Ib? It'll be rather quick. I don't know if it'll be painless, though. I do hope it isn't! That wouldn't be any fun."

"Ib…"

Garry's hand brushed against Ib's, and she grabbed at it mechanically. He shook her off gently, muttering almost inaudibly. _Run when I tell you to._

Ib looked at him quickly, fear flitting across her face. No! Were they about to be separated–?

"Oof." Garry suddenly shoved her away from him, making her stumble and nearly fall. Regaining balance, she glanced back. Garry had leapt at Mary, and now they were tumbling on the ground fighting for control over the knife. He grabbed at it, but Mary clutched tightly at the hilt and began gabbling a stream of words. The knife began to elongate, stretching and thickening and beginning to morph into…into…

_A cobra?_

Ib forgot all about running away, feeling as if she was stuck to the ground. The knife had turned into an enormous snake, as thick as a man's torso and longer than two horses. It reared languidly, its head swaying slowly from side to side. It stretched up so high it cast a shadow over the two piled before it. Mary pushed Garry off her with a cry of triumph. She stabbed a finger at the man, who was lying on the ground helplessly as the monster loomed above him.

"Take him!" she ordered. Ib almost rushed forwards to…to do _something, anything,_ but she managed to stop herself. Garry had sacrificed himself. She had to get away.

With a last, backward glance, Ib pivoted and sprinted into the woods.

xXx

Ib had been running for about fifteen minutes when she finally allowed herself to slow down. Her heart was beating so hard against her chest she felt it would bruise, and her face was covered in small scratches from the nettles that hung in her way.

The girl tried to quieten her panting, terrified that Mary would hear, but that only made her end up coughing, doubled up in the middle of the woods.

Eventually, Ib had regained control over her body. Straightening up, she looked around warily. The place was so sinister. There wasn't the sound of a single bird.

She was starting to worry now. What could she do? There wasn't anything she _could_ do. How would she get out of a painting?

_Besides_, she found herself thinking, _without Garry, you're useless._

A strange, new-found confidence grew inside Ib as this weak thought entered her head. She sucked in as much oxygen as she could, filling her lungs. Then she breathed out, slowly.

Fine. She would just have to rescue him, then.

She had barely taken a step when someone spoke.

"You're…a real person?"

Ib froze, all feeling seeming to be sucked right out of her body. Chills rushed down her spine, and she shivered involuntarily. Slowly, she turned.

A boy stood amongst the thick, almost black tree trunks. He had chestnut hair, a dirty, untidy pile atop his head, his clothes a mess. He looked about her age.

He squinted at Ib.

"You _are_, aren't you?" he said. He sounded like he was hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. Ib could see the immense hope in his eyes.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Once the initial shock had worn off, she tried again.

"Yes."

The boy's face broke into the widest smile Ib had ever seen. He bounded right up to her, seizing her hand in both of his own.

"You wouldn't _believe_ how happy I am!" He exclaimed. Ib, still numb, let her arm flop about as he shook her hand vigorously. This boy's energy seemed to be too much for her, especially after everything that had happened. Plus, he was loud enough that Mary could probably hear him from forty kilometres away. "I – I – oh my – this is –" He released her, his eyes wide and shining with exhilaration. "Did you get taken into _Forlorn Woods_ as well, then?"

Ib nodded. She couldn't trust herself to speak; she was beginning to get a horrible, increasing suspicion that only intensified as she continued to look at the boy.

"Oh!" he said. "Well, yes, that's really unfortunate, and I know this is selfish of me, but I'm _so_ glad you're here. I've been stuck here for almost a decade, all alone. And I haven't aged a bit!" He threw his arms up for emphasis. "Okay, before I go on," he continued, "We should introduce each other."

Ib swallowed, her throat still unnaturally dry. "Ib."

"Ib?" repeated the boy. He frowned briefly before breaking into a broad smile again. And then he voiced her thoughts.

"What an interesting name! I'm Alexander. Alexander Blunt."


End file.
